A/N: words: 593. short epilogue, i know. anyway. THIRD FIC NEXT WEEK LMAO. yes, the final instalment of this ridiculous multi-fic series is coming. but, as for this fic, Lies and Empty Promises... this fanfiction. jesus. so this definitely helped me. figure out how to... write. you know, helpful skill when w r i t i n g. but you know. it is one of the most descriptive thing i've ever written, i like words. this is like, sad, i know. but, its okay, because the next one is slightly happier. slightly. PRAYING TO GOD THIS FIC DOESN'T BECOME THE FORGOTTEN MIDDLE CHILD BECAUSE IT HAS SOME OF MY FAVOURITE THINGS I'VE EVER WRITTEN IN IT. so yeah, slay.

The sun had set, and the people had left. They had just finished cleaning up, and the boys were being rushed to bed. Sam and Bucky were sitting in the living, mindlessly flicking through the TV. Sam was stretched out on the couch, while Bucky was on the floor, leaning against Sam's legs.

The Friends theme hummed from the TV, and on some instinct, Bucky looked up from staring at the floor. Sam smiled softly at him. Thank god Bucky was staying.

~~~~~~~~

Bucky woke up in the same position he fell asleep in, and realized that Sam had, too. He also took note of the piece of paper thrown onto Sam, probably by Sarah. House listings. With a note scribbled on the side:

Samuel. Not that I don't appreciate the extra help from both of you (mostly Bucky) but you need some freedom. And I think my laundry machine is broken because of you.

Bucky chuckled softly and set the note down beside Sam. Moving in with Sam. Again. But it was different. Bucky wasn't trying to find who he was now. Sam wasn't trying to find who he was now. They had both been burned, scars left by the other, yet stitched up by the other. Now, now they knew who they were, where they wanted to be.

Bucky took in the look on Sam's face, the peacefulness and calm etched on his face. "Oh, I am so screwed." Bucky murmured, his lips quirking up in a small smile.

Sam stirred awake a few moments later, bringing his hands up to rub his eyes. Bucky pretended that he wasn't staring at him, and positioned himself to rest against the arm of the couch, pretending to be asleep.

Sam grabbed the note from beside him, and rolled his eyes. He had thought about moving out, he'd been here for about 4 months, he figured he'd give her a break. "Hey." He nudged Bucky with his foot, and Bucky 'woke up' with a groan.

"Hello?"

"Wanna buy a house with me? You are no longer an international fugitive." Sam inquired, a small smile on his face. Bucky smiled back, and nodded his head.

"Why not, we've done stupider things."

"Name one." 1) Falling in love.

"The field idea was pretty stupid." 2) Finding each other.

"So was teaming up with Zemo." 3) Staying. And leaving.

"Unimportant."

"Teaming up with an international terrorist felt pretty important."

"We're never gonna be able to decide on a house." Buck joked, making Sam throw his head back laughing.

So yeah, maybe life wasn't perfect, maybe life wasn't simple, maybe people do lie, maybe people do make promises that they can't keep, maybe, maybe, maybe. All for love. But, for some cruel, difficult, stupid reason, they kept loving. The small stolen glances and smiles are nothing but love. So maybe, maybe nothing really changed. Maybe the only thing stopping them from falling into each other's arms was the precautions they thought they needed. Maybe they are in love, but love is the scariest thing that they've ever had to feel, had to know. Loving Sam Wilson was the simplest thing Bucky had ever done. Now, it felt like a forgotten language he had to relearn. So maybe when love is stolen, when there's pressure and pain, love can hurt, love cuts deep wounds you thought had already healed over. Deep wounds from past love that fell through their fingers. Maybe love, in its purest form, is the sharpest blade, the fastest bullet, and the softest touch. Maybe, maybe, maybe.